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TNT Magazine
GOING FOR BAROQUE
Forget the Mafia myth, Sicily's south is a peaceful, tourist-free haven with fine baroque architecture.
ALISON GRINTER reports.
"Sicily is the place where people kill each other - at least that's the image people used to have,"
says Aldo Bevacqua, a journalist and former resident, as our tiny bus negotiates another hairpin bend through the
wild and rocky landscape of south-eastern Sicily.
I hate to be the one to tell him, but it's an image that persists today: people are reluctant to give up their
notions of horses' heads in beds. But our destination, Ragusa, couldn't be further from the spectre of common
criminality which blighted other parts of Sicily. Due to a large, wealthy middle class and prosperous agricultural
and oil industries, the baroque town and its hinterland are a pocket of affluence which remained impervious to Mafia
penetration. It's not for nothing that writer Gesualdo Bufalino described Ragusa as "an island within an island".
Ragusans certainly consider themselves to be a cut above the rest: "I have to say it," says local tourist
board employee Daniela Tardonato, "Ragusa is cleaner [than other parts of Sicily]. It's the Switzerland of Italy!"
The elegance of the town owes much to a massive earthquake in 1693 which flattened Ragusa and its surrounding
towns. The natural cataclysm spelled an architectural ground zero for the region. The aristocracy spared no cost to
rebuild a town of baroque opulence. These days, Ragusa and the other World Heritage towns of nearby Modica and Scicli
(pronounced Shikli) make up a holy trinity of baroque preservation, a reminder of an age of excess when aesthetics
became an end in themselves and not just an expression of religious piety.
The earthquake actually ripped Ragusa in half so that now there are two distinct areas, with the new town sitting
high above the old town, Ragusa Ibla (...). Ragusa Ibla is exquisite. Perched on top of a hill above plunging valleys
covered in lush vegetation of carob trees and prickly pears, it appears to have been carved out of the chalky, white
limestone on which it sits. In contrast, the Palazzo degli Archi hotel - one of only two in the old town - sticks out
like a big, red, sore thumb, albeit one that probably helps weary travellers find their way home.
The best place to see this spectacular view is from Corso Italia, on the edge of the new town. From here, you can
make your way down to the old town via a series of terraces. The walk down is a crash course in baroque appreciation:
doorways and windows are beautifully decorated with flowers, balconies adorned with cherubic gargoyles.
But it's down on the ground that you can really appreciate Ragusa's charm. The baroque principles of illusionary
effects and space are all present and correct here. As we cross the square from the main street, the Basilica San Giorgio
suddenly rears up in front of us with its majestic, three-tiered facade (the 'wedding cake' cliché springs to mind).
Created by Rosario Gagliardi in 1784, it was built at an angle to the town square, which adds to the overall effect.
As we make our way through the warren-like streets, it suddenly hits me just how quiet they are. It's like a ghost
town. Except for the sound of a street vendor's voice bouncing up and down the narrow streets advertising his wares,
the place is empty and curiously devoid of visitors. This, though, is part of Ragusa's appeal: you're not going to find
busloads of American tourists here. Visitors to Sicily tend to flock to the more popular attractions to the north of the
island - Mt Etna and the area around Palermo. The same affluence that insulated Ragusans from the Mafia also acted
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